


Broken but Still Standing

by Kara_Eclipse



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 16:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10790667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Eclipse/pseuds/Kara_Eclipse
Summary: Maedhros and Maglor both trying to muddle through everything even when things do go wrong. Not really following a specific time-line right now, but there are canon divergent elements.





	1. Everything is too Much for Maedhros

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually I will probably be making vague mentions of Maglor and Maedhros being in a relationship together. I'll put a note at the top of each chapter stating which it will be, since I may end out jumping around a bit as far as time-lines go, but you can probably just ignore the relationship when it's more than brotherly because that is not the main focus of this.

Maitimo contemplated the blade in his hand. Normally he’d never consider what he was, but today he felt fragile enough… broken enough to actually dare to do it. Macalaure was somewhere in the fortress, where his brother was Maitimo didn’t know only that he was there somewhere. That thought would normally have stopped him too, his beloved little brother who tried so very hard to make up for perceived wrongs that never actually happened and would no doubt blame himself for his eventual death.

No, thought Maitimo pressing the blade lightly to the skin of his right arm, that would not stop him this time. The taste of freedom filled him as the crimson liquid ran down his arm. Crimson, not black, sometimes he still fancied that this was all a dream, and he was in chains or worse he was buried in the back of some orc’s mind and everything he thought he felt was the illusion. Shuddering he pressed the blade against the skin a little harder, cutting deeper and heightening the sensation of being on the edge of freedom from everything. Freedom from this life, and the curse bound to his blood and body.

Still though it was not enough. Maitimo pulled the blade free, careful not to damage any more skin than he already had. If he was wrong and someone found him then there was no need to add another unsightly scar to his body. Tilting his head back against the back of his chair Maitimo held the knife up to the light admiring the way the crimson filled and colored the grooves and patterns engraved upon it’s surface.

Holding it aloft for a moment he wavered. Was this really what he wanted to do? To abandon his siblings to the Oath and to Morgoth, to leave them with the guilt of his death on their minds yet again. They had lived with it the first time so they would manage to do so again somehow. With that he brought the blade down swiftly towards his chest. Blood sparkled in the light as the blade cut through skin. Maitimo wondered briefly why there was no momentary flash of brilliant pain.

Looking at the knife he realized that it wasn’t his skin that it was buried in. Sickened he took in his brother who had caught the knife, the slim blade piercing his hand, who was glaring at him with all of his temper shining out of silver hued eyes. Never had Macalaure looked more like Feanaro than in that moment as his blood dripped to the ground where Maitimo’s blade ran through his hand as he straightened to his full height.

A hand curled into Maitimo’s collar and the Lord of Himring found himself being dragged out of his chair and thrown to the ground several feet away.

“You selfish, foolish ellon! What do you think you were doing?!” Macalaure roared at him, the room resonated echoing his words in a manner that was nearly terrifying. The bard yanked the blade from his hand and tossing it towards the open door then made a sharp gesture forestalling any answer that may have been given. “No, I know what you think you were doing.”

Maitimo watched the knife clatter to the ground well out of his reach. Simultaneously he wanted to grab it so he could try again, as well as beg Macalaure to take it and every other blade he had away from him. In the end he did neither. Maitimo stared wordlessly at Macalaure. Macalaure was still furious, but now the way that Maitimo scared him was starting to show through the anger.

“Who do you think could take your place, brother?” Macalaure asked in a calmer voice, though in the silence that followed his earlier yell it sounded nearly as loud.

Maitimo bowed his head not willing or able to look Macalaure in the eyes. After a long moment the bard knelt next to him his hand, the one that the knife had pierced, cupping Maitimo’s cheek. “Please Nelyo…. please tell me you won’t try to kill yourself like this again.”

The gentle request nearly disguised the slightest touch of power edging his brother’s words, but Maitimo was willing to latch on to the request. Maybe just having the promise hanging between them would be enough for the future when everything was too jagged and broken to ever possibly be whole again. Maitimo nodded slowly. Macalaure frowned faintly still waiting.

“No, Macalaure, I won’t try this again.” Maitimo replied just as gently as his brother’s request had been. Macalaure smiled at him, the brilliance of it soothing away some of the jagged brokenness for the moment. Then he rested his forehead against his brother’s shoulder, his red hair falling in such a way that his face would be hidden from everyone else. “Just… please stay with me? I don’t think I can stand alone anymore.”

“Oh, Nelyo… you were never alone. As long as we live I will stand by your side.” There the final layer to his agreement. Macalaure would stay with him, and in exchange Maitimo wouldn’t try to kill himself again. Content with that Maitimo nodded suddenly exhausted. Macalaure pulled him closer leaning back against the chair and singing softly, letting the words and the power behind them fill the room healing the hurts they could and bringing peace where the wounds would not heal.


	2. After Maedhros Jumps

Anger, guilt, grief and despair all were the force behind his throw, Maglor wanted the jewel to be gone, to never again cause the deaths it had, but at the same time he desperately wanted to keep it.

As the brilliantly shining jewel went flying through the air he felt a measure of freedom for the first time in years, and yet at the same time he felt even more guilt. His brothers and their people had lost their lives trying to reclaim that jewel he had no right to just throw it away. Just before it could hit the surface of the water Maglor threw himself off the cliff diving into the sea to try to grab it before it was out of his reach for good.

As he fell through the air he wondered if the sea and the storm would be kind enough to claim him, like the fire and earth had claimed his brother. A sense of peace and acceptance washed through him; he wondered if this was how Maedhros had felt falling from the cliff, peace and acceptance, the knowledge that if he was accepted that he was going home again- a sharp gasp was drawn from him as he hit the water. The surrounding chill of the water was an almost painful but stark contrast to the sinking decaying land he’d just been standing on.

Irresistibly his eyes were drawn to the sinking jewel, the radiant light brightening the waves calling to him demanding his attention. The lingering threads of the Oath tugged at him in harmony with the Silmaril’s light. Reluctantly he swam towards it catching it as it fell, and he curled around the jewel accepting the burning pain that washed through his body from it. Despite the pain he wasn’t letting it go, not again, not after nearly everyone he knew had fought for it, trying to retrieve it from the enemy. The waves stirred by the storm and the sinking lands, tossed him around dragging him deeper and deeper. Clinging to the Silmaril he slipped it inside his tunic settling it in the pocket over his heart. Sure that it wouldn’t be dragged away from him in any way he closed his eyes and exhaled the air that he’d kept in his lungs, taking in a lungful of water in its place.

As his body spasmed Maglor found he felt a measure of peace. All the pain he was in now, physically and emotionally had all been experienced by those he’d killed in some manner or another. Idly his mind flicked back to his brother’s face as he was on the cliff-edge, was this how Maedhros had felt? This profound sense of acceptance and peace despite the despair of leaving behind some who still cared… it was fitting in a way that his brother was lost in fire. He was struck by the irony that he had chosen water for his own death, the very element that could ease the ferocity of fire.

Maybe it was trying to tell him he could have done more to save the others, that if he had tried with all of his being that something may have changed…. it didn’t matter now. Everything was over, and if the Vala and the Ainu didn’t interfere then he could finally join them all in the Dark or in the Halls whichever had claimed them. With a peaceful smile on his face, despite the pain that his lungs were causing, Maglor blacked out.

Slowly he came to, aware of the ground below him and the cries of seagulls nearby. Dulled silver eyes opened taking in the sight of shore and the fact that he had been rejected. The Halls were shut to him. Moving slowly, unsteadily Maglor got to his hands and knees. Immediately his body rejected the water in his lungs, and he was hit by a strong coughing fit, the water expelling itself from his lungs painfully and rapidly. The coughing fit nearly caused Maglor to black out, but he stayed conscious knowing that he had no one that could keep him safe while he was unconscious. Pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to ease the burning from his lungs he felt the weight of the jewel. In that moment he was both relieved and furious that he still had it.

Unsteadily he climbed to his feet fighting back the urge to just curl up there on the ground sobbing. Slowly swaying with exhaustion he made his way back to the camp he and his brother had left before their attempt to infiltrate the camp of the Valar. Once he got there he collapsed to his knees a choked sob falling from his lips at the stark reminder that he was alone now. All of his brothers and most of the rest of his kin were all on the other side of the sea, a place he had been rejected and exiled from. Celebrimbor had wanted nothing to do with them, at least as far as he knew that was the case, and he wouldn’t even dare try to find or talk to Artanis. Her husband and possibly she herself would blame him for the fall of Doriath since he was indeed the last of the ones who lead the attack that still lived.

Looking around the camp he forced himself to gather a few things, his cloak and harp were definitely going with him. Digging through his pack he grabbed the things he kept from his brothers desperately needing that link with them now. As he got into the pocket he’d kept the bracelet that Curufin left for him his fingers found Maedhros’ ring. Holding both pieces of jewelry for a moment he murmured a soft, inaudible thank you to the brother he recently lost. Unable to let himself spend much time dwelling on that he slipped both pieces of jewelry on. Picking up his songbook he slipped that into one of his pockets where it wouldn’t get lost.

Chucking mirthlessly he looked back in the direction of the sea, his hand curling around the Silmaril he still held. Speaking softly, his voice cracking, he stated to the wind and to those who wouldn’t hear him, but he felt he owed some explanation. “Do not worry, our deeds will indeed be the subject of song on the shores of the sea…. just not now. I cannot bear to do so now. Maybe when the mere thought of you, any of you, no longer makes me wish to drive my own blade through my heart I will, but not yet. Please don’t hold this against me.”

Throwing his cloak around his shoulders he turned away from the sea. With his head bowed and tears silently running down his face Maglor walked away. Dull silver eyes keeping watch in front of him taking in the path he would now walk alone, and he tugged his hood up over his head. It would be better for everyone if he was believed to be dead, and the jewel lost to the sea. Besides if anyone came looking for him he wanted to be long gone in one manner or another, and since he had been rejected he was not going to kill himself now no matter how much he wanted to run one of his daggers over his wrists. They were not going to have the pleasure of saying they had all of the sons of Feanor in their care not ever again.


End file.
